Sycamore Row - John Grisham

24
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Jake slept late, or as late as possible. With Carla dead
to the world, he eased out of bed at seven, and without a sound went to the kitchen. He
brewed coffee, scrambled eggs, and toasted muffins, and when he returned with
breakfast in bed she grudgingly came to life. They were eating slowly and talking
quietly, thoroughly enjoying a rare moment, when Hanna bounded into the room full of
anticipation and chattering nonstop about Santa Claus. She wedged herself between her
parents and helped herself to a muffin. Without prompting, she reviewed everything
she’d put in her letter to the North Pole, and seemed genuinely concerned that she might
be asking for too much. Both parents patiently disagreed. She was, after all, the only
child and usually got what she wanted. Plus, there was a surprise that would
overshadow all of her requests.
An hour later, Jake and Hanna left for the square while Carla stayed home to wrap
packages. Roxy was off for the day, and Jake needed to retrieve a gift for his wife. The
office was always the best hiding place. He expected to find no one there, but was not
too surprised when he saw Lucien in the conference room, digging through a stack of old
files. He looked as though he’d been there for hours, and, more important, he looked
clean and sober. “We need to talk,” he said.
Hanna loved to rummage through her father’s big office, so Jake turned her loose
upstairs and went to find coffee. Lucien had already consumed half a pot and seemed
sufficiently wired. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he said as he closed the conference
room door. Jake fell into a chair, stirred his coffee, and asked, “Can this wait until
Monday?”
“No, shut up and listen. The great question here is, Why would a man do what Seth
Hubbard did? Right? Make a last-minute will, crude and handwritten, cut out his family,
and leave everything to a person who has no claim to any of his fortune? This is the
question that haunts you now, and it will only get bigger until we find the answer.”
“Assuming there is an answer.”
“Yes. So to unravel this mystery, and to hopefully help you win this case, we have to
answer that question.”
“And you’ve found it?”
“Not yet, but I’m on the trail.” Lucien waved at a pile of debris on the table—files,
copies of old deeds, notes. “I have examined the land records of the two hundred acres
Seth Hubbard owned in this county when he died. A lot of the records were destroyed
when the courthouse burned after the second war, but I’ve been able to reconstruct much